A Fourth Church Sermon by John W. Vest

December 25, 2007 | Christmas Day

The Little Tone-Deaf Boy

John W. Vest
Associate Pastor, Fourth Presbyterian Church

Psalm 96
Isaiah 9:2–7
Luke 2:1–20

Blessed art thou,
O Christmas Christ,
that thy cradle was so low
that shepherds,
poorest and simplest of earthly folk,
could yet kneel beside it
and look level-eyed into the face of God.

Anonymous

When I was a child, I had that sacred story from the Gospel of Luke memorized. I would recite it for my family every year on Christmas Eve. Even after I could no longer remember it, I would read it from our family Bible. Like an old, familiar friend, whenever I hear it now, it brings back so many memories of childhood Christmases. The sights and sounds, smells and tastes—they all flood my senses and linger in my memory.

Like many people, some of my fondest Christmas memories involve music. I remember hymns sung by candlelight on Christmas Eve and Christmas cantatas and caroling. I remember singing “Silent Night” in German at a Lutheran church in the heart of the Old City of Jerusalem. I remember the first time I heard Elvis’s Christmas recordings. And I remember a tape of Christmas songs that my family would pull out and play each year around Christmastime. It was a hodgepodge of songs, some sacred and some not, but that tape provided the soundtrack to my childhood Christmases.

As a child, one of my favorite songs was “The Little Drummer Boy.” I think I always identified with the little drummer boy, even though I didn’t have a drum and probably couldn’t keep a beat if I did. But it’s important for us to identify with characters in our stories. It helps us to enter into the story at a deeper level. It brings us there and helps us make that story our own. Through the little drummer boy, a boy just like me, I found my way to a manger in Bethlehem and encountered something that would change my life forever.

I’m sure you’re familiar with the tune and the story, punctuated by the refrain of the boy’s drum, “pa rum pum pum pum.” It’s a beautiful story, really, if maybe a little sappy. A young boy joins the group of people who visit the newborn king in Bethlehem and bring their finest gifts. But the boy is poor and doesn’t have anything fit to bring a king. So instead he offers to play his drum. Mary approves, and the boy plays his best for the baby Jesus. The story ends with baby Jesus smiling at the boy, giving his approval and validating the boy’s heartfelt gift.

Surely there is something miraculous about this story, because I can’t imagine that a kid banging away on a drum—a “joyful” noise that many of us have surely suffered through at some point—I can’t imagine that this was very conducive to the peaceful serenity of the manger scene. Only Mary, blessed of all mothers, would think that this was a good idea. Most mothers would catch sight of that drum and say, “Get that thing away from my sleeping baby!” And only baby Jesus would hear the love in that drum and gently smile.

Really, I love this story, and I know I’m not alone. Earlier this fall, I was talking with a pastor friend of mine about our Christmas plans. He works with youth, too, and for the past several years he has been charged with putting together the children and youth Christmas pageant at his church. Now he is an ambitious young pastor and likes to write his own pageants, often getting his youth to participate in the creative process. He told me that one of his ideas for this year was to elaborate on this story of the little drummer boy and reimagine it with a whole band of eager young musicians, each playing a different instrument for baby Jesus. Here comes the little trumpet girl. Here comes the little oboe boy. Each child would bring their own gifts, and the result would be something between shrill cacophony and beautiful harmony, but this too would please the baby Jesus, who would recognize the sincerity of each musical gift. Each child would contribute. Each child would be validated and accepted.

I thought that this was a brilliant idea, if a little crazy to attempt to pull off. As my friend and I noodled around with the concept, I asked him if there would be a “little tone-deaf boy” in the band. I thought that it might offer a little comic relief, a kid coming on stage and singing something horribly out of tune. But I also longed for an appearance by the little tone-deaf boy because that is really the character that I can identify with. The little drummer boy is my fantasy. The little tone-deaf boy is my reality. That little tone-deaf boy was me. That little tone-deaf boy is still me.

Anyone who has ever stood near me during hymn singing or has perhaps been on the aisle as the choir and pastors process in to church for worship knows that for me singing is hit or miss. I’m thankful that many of our hymns are within my limited range and I can get through them pretty well. And it helps to be surrounded by people who sing so well. But from time to time we sing a hymn that, for me, is totally unsingable. And that’s when the little tone-deaf boy comes around and sings his little heart out.

I was reminded of my lifelong struggle with singing last week when my wife and I visited my parents in Florida. They are downsizing from a house to a much smaller condo, so part of our trip was spent going through my old things in the attic, saving what needed to be saved and discarding the rest. In the midst of this treasure hunting, I came across a videotape labeled “John’s 6th Grade Chorus Concert.” I hadn’t seen this tape in ages. In fact, I think I forgot it even existed. Or perhaps I just blocked it out of my mind.

Against my better judgment, I put it in the VCR. There I am, late-80s mullet and a suit that didn’t quite fit. For some insane reason, the teacher had given me a solo. I think it must have been because I can manage to sing pretty well with a group, where I can pick up pitch and key from the people I’m singing with. But when I’m left on my own, God only knows what will come out of my mouth. We were doing a collection of oldies, and my solo came up during “The Locomotion.” I could see myself nervously waiting for the inevitable, hoping for some kind of catastrophe to strike that auditorium and put us out of our misery. The catastrophe came when it was my turn to sing. It was the little tone-deaf boy.

. . . .

The miracle of Christmas, the miracle of what the church believes about Christ, is that God chose to visit us as a real human being. God put aside the power and glory that is God’s nature, and came to earth as one of us.

For centuries the church struggled to understand this paradox, this mystery of divine and human coming together as one. Truth be told, many in the church continue to struggle with this idea, continue to wonder how Christ can be both human and divine. As a result, some people tend to emphasize one over the other—Jesus is either too human and therefore less connected to God or too divine and therefore not very believable as a human being.

But if our faith in the incarnation is to have integrity, we must stretch our minds and hearts to encompass both. We must redefine power as vulnerable and self-sacrificing love. And we must see in Christ the humans that God creates us to be.

Our Christmas story brings this all into focus. Here we have a baby worshiped as a king, yet born in a barn. Here we have the hope of the world, the promise of God’s new work among us and through us, lying fragile and vulnerable in a manger. Here we have the fullest expression of God’s will for humanity, born just like us amid the realities of life—pain, poverty, violence.

Like any good story, we identify with the characters. There’s noble Joseph, bewildered at what has happened to his young bride, suddenly the father of a child that isn’t quite his. There’s Mary, overwhelmed by so many emotions, confused yet blessed. And there’s baby Jesus, so much like us. So much like us.

Throughout the centuries since that night in Bethlehem, theologians have puzzled about why God chose this way, why God chose to be revealed in a little baby that would grow up into a human being just like you and me. These theologians have offered many answers. Some are overly complex and some are overly simple.

For me, it comes down to this idea of identification. We look at that baby and see ourselves. Yet we see ourselves as God sees us. We see the potential within us to reflect the image of God, as we were created to be. We see that being a child of God is not about following a bunch of rules or agreeing to a checklist of beliefs. We see that life isn’t about wealth and power and control. We see that God is love and that we join with God when we participate in that love. And we see that this baby will grow up and ask us to follow him.

We see ourselves as God sees us. We sing out of tune, we bang on drums, we make trumpets squeal, we don’t make any sound at all—but God hears us offering what we have in love. And God accepts us. God loves us.

Being human isn’t easy. For all of the joy and happiness, there is always also pain and sorrow. We who are gathered here this morning are well aware of that. The little baby we come to see on Christmas will grow to know that. And he will show us what it means to love God and love each other through the best and the worst that life brings.

In Christ we see ourselves as God sees us. We see what God is calling us to be. In Christ God promises a new day, a brighter future for all of God’s children. Friends, this may look like a simple baby, but the stakes are high when it comes to this child. This baby is about the salvation of the world, the reconciliation of humanity with God and with each other. Friends, we are about the salvation of the world. When we look at that baby, God is calling us to be a part of this new thing, this new dawn, this new birth.

And like that baby, and like Mary, and like Joseph, and like the little drummer boy and the little trumpet girl and the little tone-deaf boy and the whole cast of characters, we come as we are, with the gifts that God has given us to use, and God will bless us and welcome us to participate in the greatest thing the world has ever seen.

We come to this manger, to this child, bringing in deepest gratitude what we have. In return, God calls us to participate in this child’s life. God empowers us to follow. God invites us to join in the transformation of the world.

This child will grow up and we will see him do amazing things. We will listen intently as he teaches us God’s word. We will watch him and follow him.

Our faith traditions tell us that this child is without sin and will remain that way his entire life. I’m not sure if that means he is totally perfect though, because in my heart of hearts I like to think that he is tone-deaf too.

Amen.